Grant Me Asylum
by Casy Dee
Summary: Connor finds himself in dire straits when he realizes his trust might have been misplaced.  Can he survive what he's done to himself this time? Complete!  finally
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hope you enjoy this! I've missed everyone :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Connor was well aware of the fact that Abby didn't trust Philip Burton. She'd made no secret of it, and he trusted her… he _did_, but Philip Burton was his idol. He had done a lot of good in the world of science, and Connor hoped he could someday follow in his footsteps. He didn't want to believe anything bad about him, especially considering all the resources he'd put at Connor's disposal. More than that, Philip _believed _in him. He treated him as if he was important, that is, once he'd proven himself to him. He didn't want to believe that he could be wrong about him, but he'd seen and heard some things that he was quite certain he hadn't been meant to hear, and now he couldn't help but to be suspicious.

He felt almost guilty, sat at his workstation rifling through Philip's computerized file system. He'd easily disabled the system's warning tripwires, and he knew for a fact that he'd turned his screen and his body so the camera in his lab couldn't catch what he was doing well enough to alert Philip. If Philip was truly involved in anything nefarious, Connor would find it. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd _do _about it, but he'd find it. Connor swallowed hard as he found the files relating to _New Dawn_. Burton had meticulous logs detailing the project from its very inception. He'd meant well, Connor was certain of it… at least he had in the beginning.

The most recent information detailed a new direction in the project. Connor's breakthrough discovery that the anomalies could generate energy had been too much of a carrot for Burton to pass up. Properly harnessed and applied, it was essentially free energy. The increasing anomalies, the spaghetti junctions that had cropped up, the strange variations... they were all detailed in Phlip's files as 'acceptable side effects' until such a time as they could be countered. He'd not stopped his energy experiments, not even when he realized the damage they were causing.

Connor hadn't realized what he'd done with the research Connor had supplied to him. He'd thought that surely Philip wouldn't attempt to create anomalies just to harness their energy, not when every time an anomaly was created it upset the balance of the naturally occurring anomalies. Connor's stomach clenched when he saw that his his name was included in the project file… and it was right next to Helen Cutter's. He'd enabled him, helped him, been duped by him. He'd been a fool. Abby had been right all along.

Connor had to tell her. They'd sort out what to do next together. He inhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut; he had to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He was rubbish at artifice and Philip had been watching him closely recently. He'd thought he was just concerned for him because he'd been working such long hours, but now he was beginning to understand that all the questions he'd been asking about the practical applications of his inventions had been a little too close to comfort.

Connor gathered his things, knocking over his cup and then his pens and then a sheaf of papers in his haste to leave. His hands were shaking as righted the items; he was not meant for this sort of thing. He was probably being paranoid. There was no way for Burton to know what he'd been doing, he told himself. He shouldered his bag and made to leave, intent on finding Abby.

Connor turned the lever on the door, but it didn't give way. He'd been locked in. Confused, he tried the handle once more.

He banged on the door, "Oy! I'm locked in!"

Connor paced the length of his lab restlessly, flicked the switch on his comm unit and tried again, "Jess? Are you there? Anyone?"

Empty silence answered him. He fished his mobile out of his pocket and thumbed it on. No signal. He was beginning to think that perhaps this was no accident. He'd been locked in for a reason. He chewed his lip and thought furiously. If he could get into the security system- He cursed softly as he was suddenly plunged into darkness. Okay, so he was _definitely _locked in on purpose. The background whine of computers and electricity and lighting fell silent. He hadn't just lost light, he'd been cut off from the power grid as well. _Shit. _

Abby wouldn't be looking for him for hours yet. He'd taken to working increasingly long hours in order to fulfill his promise to Philip about balancing work for the ARC and Prospero. He and Abby hardly spoke anymore; he'd gotten well blinkered by all the toys and technology that had been waved in front of him. What if he was too late? What if he'd lost her and never realized it? The thought brought a painful lump to his throat. He'd be lost without her. He was a fool twice over.

Few people were working in the ARC at this hour, and fewer still on the Prospero side. He might be stuck in his lab until Philip explained what was to be done with him. He'd likely fire him from the ARC again, and perhaps keep him away from the anomaly project altogether. He must have had some other way to detect when his files had been accessed that Connor had missed, although he couldn't fathom _how. _Connor didn't make mistakes like that.

Connor navigated around the room with the light from his phone, finally accepting that he was trapped. He sat in his chair and shuddered, he didn't like the dark, not when it was like _this… i_nky and black and suffocating. Although he was able to function with his claustrophobia, that didn't mean it was easy. The velvet darkness of his lab felt all too much like… no. He was not going to think about that.

#

He was kept in the dark for hours before Burton collected him. He assumed it was him, but he never saw a face. He was sat in the dark trying to _not _freak out and then gas had begun streaming into his lab through the vents. He remembered choking, and then falling to the ground. He'd woken to find himself strapped into a narrow bed in an isolation room. His arms and legs were secured to the frame so that he could hardly move. He was barefoot and dressed in green hospital trousers and shirt; he was fairly certain that anything personal had been taken from him. His necklace and ring were missing. No windows and perpetual fluorescent light made it difficult to gauge the passage of time. He had no idea how long he'd been there, or if he'd been missed, or if anyone was even searching for him. He wasn't completely sure that Burton was the one responsible, but he couldn't imagine anyone else being to blame, not after what he'd seen in those files.

He'd been left alone for far too long, by his reckoning. He'd shouted for someone to let him out, but no one came. He wondered how long he would be held without being told why. He was frightened, if he admitted it. He'd heard of things like this, people being locked away and never heard from again. What he couldn't figure was why he was still alive. If he was such a threat, if he knew too much, then why hadn't they just killed him? _There are worse things than death, _he mused. Living like _this? _Well, that was one of them.

"Oy! Why am I here? Why won't nobody tell me something?" he shouted again.

He was losing his voice, and still no one came. "Please? Please someone tell me what I'm doing here!" he tried again. "Please?" That sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. "I need food and water. Am I meant to just lie here and starve to death?"

Apparently so. Hours passed, at least it seemed like hours, and he was beginning to give up on the thought of anyone helping him when the door to his cell opened. A tall man in a white coat entered, clipboard in hand and false smile firmly in place.

He stared down at Connor, "Have you calmed down Mr. Taylor?"

Connor gave a relieved smile, "There has been some sort of a mistake. Me name's Connor Temple."

"So I'm speaking with Connor again. Could I speak with Gordon?"

Connor swallowed hard, "What are you on about? I am Connor and _only_ Connor."

Cold washed through him as he worked through the implications, "Why am I here?" he asked carefully.

"You are here to get help. You're safe here. We are going to help you get better, if you let us."

Connor paled, "Who put me here? Was it Philip? Why am I strapped to the bed?"

"Your Uncle was very concerned for your safety, and so are we. Do you remember what you did to your room?"

Connor shook his head no as his stomach twisted and heaved. This was bad.

"You made quite a scene. I'm afraid that until we can be certain that you are not going to be destructive again that you will have to stay here. Take your medications and don't act out, and we'll consider putting you into an ordinary room again."

Connor nodded. Best to go along for now, at least until he learned more.

"We'll take the restraints off of you now that you are awake. You were hurting yourself and had to be sedated. I'm sure you will feel a lot more comfortable after that, and then we can get you a meal and we can talk."

Connor nodded again, "Okay."

He couldn't see the point of shouting, though he felt like screaming at the top of his lungs. Connor had survived years of verbal abuse by knowing when to shut his mouth, by not making waves, by acting as if the words didn't sting. He survived it, and he could survive this. He'd stay calm and follow their program until someone came for him. He'd look for a way to get to a phone or a computer or _something_ meanwhile. Abby would come looking for him; he'd just have to last long enough for her to find him. She _would, _wouldn't she? There was a time when he wouldn't have even had to question it.

TBC

A/N: As always, comments are love! Por Favor?

TBC

A/N: As always, comments are love! Por Favor? Helps me to write muuuch faster. Honest.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Finally, eh? Oh, I should add this is a birthday fic for iEvenstar_Estel. Sorry taking so long! The lovely prompt is from her twisted mind. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

"Would you fancy any more jelly, Gordon?" the nurse asked.

Connor shook his head, "No, thank you."

This was his first day in an actual room, and he was not about to spoil it by insisting they call him Connor. He'd made that mistake the second day, and all it had earned him was another day in isolation. The doctor had said he'd grown disruptive and then violent, but Connor didn't remember that part. He remembered being sedated, and that was all. The doctor had promised that he could have some of his things today, and he was desperate to wear something other than hospital clothing. He'd already been fed a surprisingly good breakfast, watched the telly for a few hours, and then attended group therapy before lunch. It seemed that a rousing game of Scrabble was the most exciting option available. If this was what his days were going to entail, he needed to get out, and quickly, before he went stir crazy. He was so _bored._

True to the doctor's word, a nurse brought in a small bag with some of his things. He'd been packed some underpants, a brush, basic toiletries… no razor, though, a couple of pair of jeans and several of the t-shirts he liked to wear in layers, a hoodie and some trainers. The clothes had come from his wardrobe, which meant that Abby had either packed them for him or someone had taken his things whilst she was away. _Oh god, what if Abby was in the same situation? Or…what if they all thought he was dead? _He couldn't expect rescue, could he? He might have to get himself out of this. He'd play along with the therapy so they'd stop watching him so closely, and he'd sort _something _out.

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><p>Matt had been watching Burton closely since the day Danny Quinn had told him that he was not to be trusted. Privately, he'd agreed with that assessment since the day he'd met the man. Danny Quinn, on the other hand, he'd instinctively trusted, and Danny trusted Abby and Connor as much as he could trust anyone. He'd recruited Abby to help him spy on Burton because she shared his distrust for the man… and because she was close to Connor. He thought Becker could be trusted as well, but he wasn't sure how far he'd be willing to extend himself. Soldiers followed orders, as he well knew, so he settled on using Abby until he could be more certain of him.<p>

Abby hadn't liked the thought of keeping something of that magnitude from Connor, but she had agreed that Connor could likely not keep such a secret and continue to act normally. He was simply too honest and too open, and far too trusting. She had agreed to help Matt, but only on the condition that if she felt it became necessary to clue Connor in for his own safety, that she would do so. It was a fair compromise, and truly Matt didn't want to see Connor hurt.

When Connor went missing, Matt was immediately suspicious. When Abby came to him and voiced her own trepidation, he was certain that something was not quite right about Philip's story. Connor would never work for the man if he knew what he was doing could harm others, nor would he stay silent. Matt suspected that Connor had found out that Philip's motives were suspect, and Philip had taken steps to ensure that Connor did stay silent… though hopefully not permanently. So he watched, and he paid attention, and when Burton let something slip, he would be ready for it.

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><p>Connor was right when he'd figured he would be bored, but he'd had no idea that he was going to be quite <em>so insanely<em> bored. He had read everything in the small library, watched more television than he ever wanted to, and played more card and board games than should be legal. It was no wonder these people were mentally ill, it was likely a direct result of the environment. Everything was to be _calm_ and Connor had never felt less calm in his entire life. Every waking second, he was on the edge of losing control of himself, and he was not entirely sure what would happen if he did. Some days he wanted to find out, if only for it to be something _different._

This day began like so many others, boredom, group therapy, lunch, hypnotherapy and more boredom, save for one very important event. On _this _day, he had a visitor. When he was first told that someone had come for him, for one horrible moment he thought it might be Abby. Horrible, because a millisecond later he knew it couldn't be her. Couldn't be. He wished for it though… he tried to kill the hope welling up inside of him.

According to the doctors, she didn't exist. He knew better, but he was beginning to question himself more and more. All the people in the hospital were quite convinced that he was someone other than Connor Temple, and he sometimes wondered if he _was _crazy and perhaps they were right. He wasn't sure who his visitor could be, but he suspected they weren't there to break him.

Two security guards led him to a room he'd never seen before. A man waited at the opposite end; he knew him immediately. It was Philip Burton. _The bastard had the nerve to show up here?_ He fumed. For what? To gloat at how he'd managed to keep Connor locked up against his will?

"What the hell do you want?" Connor asked, his voice shaking with rage.

"Come now, Gordon. Please tell me you remember your Uncle Philip? I'd been told you were making such progress."

Connor took an aggressive step forward, intent on planting his fist firmly into Philip's face; the hospital escorts laid restraining hands upon him. Mindful of how quickly they could administer a sedative in this place, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He wanted answers, and a needle full of Thorazine wouldn't get them for him.

"Why am I here? Why didn't you just end me when ya had the chance, eh?" Connor asked.

Philip smiled, silken and smarmy, "Gordon, you're my nephew. Why do you think I mean you harm? You are my family."

"What have you done with Abby? How did you get my things from her? If you hurt her, I'll—"

"Gordon," Philip interrupted with another smile, "I don't know any _Abby, _and the clothes were in your room. I packed them and sent them to you, just as you asked me to last time we answered to Gordon, then."

Connor shook his head, "No. You're lying."

"Believe me, I am only doing what is best for you. I just want you back, working in the lab side by side, as we've always done. You can finish up your latest project," Philip added as if it was an afterthought.

Connor wasn't fooled. He gritted his teeth, "I'll never work for you again. On _anything,_" he ground out.

Philip's smile compressed into a tight line, "You are going to stay here until you are better. I have the resources to guarantee that. I hand-picked your doctor… he's a _specialist_ of sorts. The hospital was thrilled to add him to the staff for the duration of your stay. When you are Gordon again, and you _will_ be, make no mistake… you _will _come work for me, and you will finish what you started."

Connor swallowed hard. The note of finality on the last word had been crystal clear. He'd been threatened, in no uncertain terms. Philip meant to brainwash him, and he'd be a prisoner here until he succeeded.

"You won't get away with this. They'll come for me."

Philip turned to leave, "Goodbye… Gordon."

"You'll pay for—" Connor's voice trailed off as the shot of Thorozine took effect.

_But I didn't _do _anything_, was his last thought as the drug took hold.

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><p>Had Connor not been missing for the past month, Matt probably would have never stopped to listen to the telephone conversation, but he could hardly ignore any potential clue now. He was beginning to think that Connor was dead, and from Abby's despondence he thought she felt much the same. She wouldn't say it, though. She maintained that Connor was alive and out there waiting for them to find him, and for both their sakes, he hoped she was right.<p>

Matt had been stood near Philip's office when a call came in for him and so he'd quickly slipped into an alcove to listen in. Philip had answered the call, and then had said 'I can pay whatever it takes, Dr. Horton. Money is no concern whatsoever. Keep my nephew until _I_ say he is ready to come home.' Matt knew Philip's file better than he knew his own. Philip Burton had no nephew, nor family of any sort for that matter. Now he just had to find out where this Dr. Horton had called from… simple enough for Jess to do, provided he could trust her. He sighed deeply and dialed Abby on his mobile. She'd not care that it was early morning, not when he might have found something to finally give her hope.

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><p>Connor was sat in front of the Scrabble board, pondering his next move. His medicine made him sleepy and slow, and it was hard to concentrate. In the beginning, he'd hidden the pills under his tongue. He wasn't sure why, exactly. His therapist said that people with his condition often resisted getting better by refusing to take their medication because it made them feel as if they were being controlled, but it was just to help with the anxiety. He'd been told he suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder; he had episodes where he would insist that he was another person. The goal for his treatment was for him to bring the two aspects of his personality together. The hypnotherapy was helping.<p>

He hoped his uncle Philip would come to visit him again. Last time, he'd treated him poorly. His uncle said that he wanted him to get better so that he could come home and work for him again. He said he'd have his own flat and a private lab when he was well enough to be released. Unfortunately, he'd been having one of his episodes and insisted that his name was Connor Temple. His doctor said he'd shouted at Philip, had gotten violent and he'd even managed to belt him in the jaw before he'd been tranquilized and restrained. Uncle Philip had been so good to him; he felt terribly for treating him like that. He didn't remember any of it, save waking up from the shot. Supposedly that was normal for his condition.

The therapist said that Philip had raised him after he'd been taken away from his parents. They had been drug addicts and had done bad things to him as a child. Dr. Montague said that it was probably why he'd developed the disorder, so that he could survive the trauma. He hadn't been able to remember much of it, except for memories of being locked in a small dark place. He'd not wanted to think on it much, even if it meant it was progress. He knew he'd have to eventually, if he wanted to go back to a normal life someday. He stuck his hands further into the pockets of his hoodie, fingering the inside seams. For some reason it seemed to comfort him, and he'd take comfort where he could get it.

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><p>Abby missed Connor desperately. She knew he was in danger, and he needed her. She had to make herself believe that, because the alternatives were too painful to contemplate. Niggling worms of doubt whispered to her in the dark. What if he <em>had<em> left voluntarily without as much as a goodbye or… what if he was dead? She blamed herself. She should have told him that Matt suspected Burton. She should have told him that Danny had found a connection between Burton and Helen Cutter. She should have- she stifled a sob and wiped the tears that had escaped to trail down her face with the back of her hand and turned her head into her pillow. It didn't matter. It was done. She'd lost him and she was no closer to finding him than she'd been a month prior. She hoped he'd found the message she'd sewn into the pocket of his hoodie. At least he'd know she knew something was wrong, that is, if he'd actually received the clothing she'd packed for him and it hadn't been part of Burton's scheme to make her think he was alive and working elsewhere on assigment.

She'd asked Jess to help, but she hadn't been able to find anything. She'd adamantly refused to try to hack into the ARC or Prosporo files. She said that there were too many tripwires and fail safes. She'd likely not find a thing, and Philip would know what she'd done. All she'd been able to get from her was her promise to listen for any possible connection to Connor's disappearance. Matt was doing the same, and she'd spoken with Becker despite Matt's reservations. He promised if she found a way for him to help, he'd be there for Connor. Cold comfort, but at least she knew her friends wanted to help. She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep. It was four in the morning already; this would be a rough day.

Her mobile rang, startling a small scream from her. She blinked blearily at the clock. It was six in the morning and she'd just barely dropped off after a fitful night of bad dreams broken by periods of staring at the ceiling and worrying about Connor. She thumbed the screen on and answered the call. Matt ringing her this early in the morning had to be important, else he would have waited the few hours until she came to work. Could it be about Connor? She was afraid to hope.

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><p>Connor felt he was making progress; most often he was Gordon Taylor now, but in his dreams he was someone different. In his dreams he was Connor Temple and he loved a beautiful fierce woman named Abby Maitland. She loved him too, and he heard her say it in his dreams. He remembered fantastical things, like running from dinosaurs and living in a cave and secret government agencies and time travel. That's how he knew it wasn't real. It was all a figment of his shattered psyche. He had to give himself credit for his creativity; it was an exciting life his other self lived. Still, when he woke in the middle of the night with her image burning in his brain, the memory of her scent and her taste on his tongue, he couldn't help but think that Connor Temple's life was more real than the one the doctors told him was his. Else, why would his chest ache when he thought of her? Why would he wake with tears tracking down his face because he missed her? How could he love a dream more than life itself?<p>

TBC

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><p><strong>AN: Just FYI, I am away from home in a training school so updates are somewhat slow. Reviews help motivate me though… *wink wink nudge nudge* Feed my hungry muse?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I know, I know! This has taken me ages to finish. Sorry, work says to go to away to school for six weeks, I go to school. Almost done, though. Headed home tomorrow and then I'll be back to ficcing like a madwoman. Thanks for reading! (And apologies to iEvenstar_Estel for making her wait so long for the end of her birthday fic.)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Connor stared down at the Scrabble board, confusion twisting his features. His opponent had spelled out _Abbey._

"She doesn't spell it that way," he objected, the words escaping before he could stop them.

The mousy boy across from him stuttered an apology, "S-s-sorry, Gordon, but I mean an _abbey_, not a g-g-girl."

Connor shook his head, "Yeah, mate. Wasn't thinking, was I?"

He stared down at the word on the board, unable to shake the feeling that he _knew_ an Abby, and she was important. She'd not want her name spelled wrong.

"Gordon, it's y-y-your go."

Connor shook his head, "Later, yeah?" he said as he pushed himself out of his chair.

He stuck his hands inside his hoodie pockets and wandered back to his room. They'd not let him sleep, but he could sit in his room and have some time to himself. Time to think. Time to sort out who Abby was, and why he was so upset that he didn't remember her. His fingers ghosted over the lining inside the pocket, tracing the nubby edge of the seam. His brow furrowed as he realized that it was only one pocket that had the strange nubby texture. Was something sewn inside his pocket?

Connor settled on his bed and took a deep breath to counter the growing feeling of unease. He stripped off his hoodie, his hands shaking as he turned the pocket inside out. Right inside the seam was a line of embroidery in almost the same color of the shirt. He held it closer to his eyes so that he could make out the tiny awkwardly stitched letters. It said, "Will find you," and then a tiny heart and the letter A.

Connor's heart pounded so hard he thought it might come out of his chest. A. Abby. _His _Abby. Images of soft skin and soft white-blonde hair, the taste of her mouth… his dreams. He remembered. The tremors that had started at his hands now consumed his whole body. He'd been tricked into believing he was someone he wasn't. He'd been tricked into believing Philip was his uncle, and he'd been ready to go home and work with him in his _special _lab. He had been ready to trade one prison for another. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, overwhelmed at what had been taken from him, how horribly he'd been used.

He felt the scream of rage bubbling up in his throat, but he couldn't stop it in time. The orderlies would come running in seconds. He had to convince them that he was okay, and everything was the same. Had to.

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><p>Abby was frantic to get to Connor. Matt had an address, but he insisted that they put together a plan before simply rushing off to rescue him. In her mind it made sense, but her heart screamed for action. She just knew that the longer that she waited to go to him, the more likely that something horrible would have happened, or he'd be moved or… or what if Burton decided to kill him off to keep him quiet?<p>

Abby paced the length of Matt's flat, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive. It would be just her, Matt, Becker and a couple of his most trusted soldiers. Jess would run logistics and communications, and Lester was meant to stay at the ARC to take care of Burton. When Abby had asked him if he was certain he could handle it on his own, he'd rolled his eyes and assured her that it would be the highlight of his day.

Burton would never suspect Lester; he was the perfect person to spring the trap. He despised Burton and Burton likely knew it, but the man thought he would never dare actively oppose him. Abby knew James Lester better than that; he had a giant set of brass bullocks. She just hoped that he was careful; Burton was a slippery bastard. Lester was to hold Burton until they were able to free Connor, and then he insisted the man be turned over to the minister. Abby fancied tossing him into the nearest anomaly, or perhaps feeding him to the nearest hungry Theropod, but Lester quoted some rubbish about health and safety. She'd grudgingly agreed, but she warned that they'd better keep him out of her sight.

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><p>"Is everything okay in here, Gordon?" the orderly asked.<p>

Connor nodded, "What? Yes! Yep, everything's fine. Perfect. I thought I saw a mouse, and I don't like them, do I? So I shouted. Sorry."

The orderly glanced to the nurse beside him and nodded, "Alright, Gordon. If you're certain you're okay?"

"One-hundred percent," Connor replied with false brightness.

He heaved a sigh of relief when they turned and left and then snatched up his hoodie to look at it again. Yes, the words were still there. It had been so long, though. She said she'd find him. What if she couldn't find him? What if Philip had done something to Abby, as well? He had to find her. He had to get out. He'd always been rubbish at lying, but if he would have to make it work. They'd stopped watching him so closely since he'd become convinced he was Gordon Taylor. He'd have to sort _something _out before hypnotherapy tomorrow. He feared what he'd reveal under hypnosis.

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><p>Abby slid down the wall and rested her head on her knees and tried to hold back her tears. She'd thought she was going to find him. The hospital the call had been traced to did have a mental ward, but Connor wasn't in it. Becker was trying to locate the doctor Burton had spoken with, Dr. Horton, but Abby couldn't find it within her to hope. Jess was telling her that they'd make Philip tell them where Connor was, but it was all just unwelcome noise. She was suddenly terrified that Connor was dead. Burton had killed him, and she'd not even known it. She'd promised him she would come for him, but she'd been too late.<p>

Becker rounded the corner and looked down at Abby, his expression grave, "The doctor works rounds here, but no one knows where he is now. Seems he doesn't belong to any one hospital. He just…" Becker waved his hand frustrated, "works _everywhere."_

Abby swallowed hard and nodded; she was never one to wallow in self-pity for long, "Fine, then. We'll have to get it out of Burton."

Becker's lips compressed to a thin line, "I can get it out of him."

Abby tried to put confidence in her face and nodded, "Of course you will. Let's go."

Abby stared out the window of the four by four as they rode back to the ARC in silence. Becker contacted Lester on the com unit to tell him about the failure of the mission and to let him know that they were going to need a bit more time with Burton before he was turned over to the minister.

"He what?" Becker snapped, his characteristic calm for once completely absent.

Abby felt the blood drain from her face, "No." He couldn't have escaped… "What's happened?" she demanded.

"Yes, sir. I see. We're on our way. "

"Tell me," Abby hissed.

Becker blinked, something like shock crossing his face. "Philip Burton is dead."

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><p>Connor would never be a master criminal, but he <em>had<em> managed to secure a mobile from one of the orderlies. New guy, very young, and still too new to realize he really shouldn't have been chatting up Samantha, their resident sociopath. She was pretty, though, and that's all the young man saw. Given a little more time working in the ward and he'd see that it was never a good idea to be interested in anyone housed there, no matter how pretty or charming. Samantha would smile as she tried to kill him, and never feel a thing. Despite all that, she was a great Scrabble opponent, he mused, and quite willing to help him out of sheer boredom.

Connor ducked into his room, opened the wardrobe and pretended to search for something in the back corner as he dialed Abby's number. As soon as he heard the heavy footfalls coming towards him, he knew they were coming for him. He'd been quick, and he'd done nothing to arouse anyone's suspicions. There should have been no reason for them to know what he was up to, but somehow they'd found out. He hadn't been fast enough, evidently. He begged for Abby to pick up, he had seconds left. He shoved the phone in his pocket, granting him a couple of more moments before they found it and hung up.

"Eastdale, I'm at Eastdale! Find me Abby! Please," he whispered as he waited for them, hoping against hope that it was loud enough for her to make it out if she was listening.

"Oy! What's this? I've done nothing," Connor argued as strong hands closed on his biceps and pulled him out of the wardrobe.

"Search him," came the cool voice of Dr. Horton.

"What the hell? I just came to me room, no need to-" Connor protested.

"Shut up. We have cameras. You'll be moved. No one is coming for you."

His doctor, the specialist that worked for Philip Burton, smiled as he collected the phone and shut it off. Connor's blood ran cold; he was suddenly convinced that this man knew exactly who he was. He had been determined to turn him into someone else, knowing full well that it was a lie. He'd believed the doctors had thought they were doing the right thing and Philip had just duped them, but he'd been wrong. They were _doctors_; how could they?

"You call yourself a doctor? How could you do this and still look at yourself in the mirror?" Connor spat out, disgusted.

Dr. Horton leaned in closely, his words for Connor alone, "I find this field of study fascinating… and very lucrative."

"Bastard!" Connor shouted as he tried to struggle free again.

"I'm afraid he is going to continue to be uncooperative and violent. Sedate him and put him in the isolation room," he smiled tightly, "The special one."

"My friends will find me!"

The doctor laughed, "They always say that in the beginning."

The hot bite of Thorazine in his veins stopped any further protests. Useless to try to fight it. His vision blurred and the world around him grew vague and indistinct.

* * *

><p>Connor blinked blearily as he came to, trying to force his thoughts into linear motion. If this isolation room was any different from the ones he'd been held in before, he wasn't sure how he'd know it. They'd shut off the lights. He was strapped down to the narrow cot by one of those belt contraptions they used to keep patients immobile. They'd not used it on him since the first time, and they'd never kept him in the dark. Connor cursed softly, his words coming out slurred and distorted. Of course they kept him in the dark; he'd given them all they needed to know to torture him. He'd freely admitted how much he disliked pure darkness… too much like a closed in space. He could be in a tiny box for all he knew, and that's what he hated. Thick velvet darkness, choking him, clogging his nose and mouth. Connor closed his eyes tightly and tried to pretend the light was on and he was just sleeping. His mouth tasted like cotton batting that had been dipped in shit, and his head throbbed. He focused on the discomfort and tried to shut out the growing panic attack. If he gave in, he'd be giving them exactly what they wanted. He had to hold on.<p>

_She could be dead, _he told himself. He wondered if he'd thrown away his one chance at rescue by calling Abby instead of Becker or Lester or Matt. His breath came faster and he couldn't stop it, fear closing in on him. If they had merely wanted to drive him mad, he was well on his way. He hated the Thorazine. It always left him feeling like he was working at about an eighth of his mental capacity, and from the sluggish way this thoughts were moving it seemed they upped the dose this time. His brain was the best thing he had going for him, and without that advantage he felt truly helpless. His muscles began to twitch as his skin crawled… another unfortunate after-effect. _Please… please? Someone find me. _

He'd never felt after-effects this strongly before. If he didn't know that Philip believed he was much more useful to him alive, he might have thought that'd they'd given him an overdose. _No… that's just the panic attack_, he told himself resolutely, trying to convince himself he was overreacting.

* * *

><p>Becker listened as Lester dryly intoned that apparently their mission hadn't been as secret as they'd thought. Philip Burton had been making his escape when the security team moved to apprehend him, but something had gone wrong. He'd opened an anomaly to the recent past with Connor's prototype device, and when a member of the security team shot him with the EMD, it reacted with the anomaly field and caused it to lock momentarily… with part of Burton inside of it. He'd been cut in half.<p>

The small satisfied smile he'd allowed himself at the news of how Burton had met his demise vanished when he heard the next part. Apparently, prior to making his failed escape, Burton had gloated that Lester had just effectively murdered Connor by detaining him; he'd left orders to kill Connor if he disappeared, and he'd already missed the meeting. Becker glanced over at Abby and made the quick decision not to tell her the last bit. He could find Connor before that happened. He _would._

Abby sat in numb silence for the remainder of the journey back to the ARC whilst Becker relayed that Lester would explain what had gone wrong when they made it back to the ARC. She'd wanted him dead, but she'd wanted Connor back safe with her first. Becker promised her that they could find Connor, even without Burton. They had the name of the doctor that Burton paid off to treat him, and without Burton around to pay him any longer, he would probably even cooperate. She managed a stiff nod of acceptance but his words were cold comfort. She'd allowed herself to think that they'd found him, and now she was paying the price for it. Hope was a worthless, useless thing. All it did was set you up for pain and heartache. Why she'd ever forgotten that, she'd never know.

* * *

><p>Abby took her mobile out of her pocket and turned it back on. The mission was over; no need to have it shut off any longer. Her eyes narrowed as she saw a message icon on the screen. No one ever called her, save for Connor or the ARC… or even more rarely, her brother. Her brow furrowed as she dialed her voice mail, hoping it wasn't Jack. She was not in the mood to deal with him today. At first she only heard static, and she began to think that perhaps it had been a wrong number, but then she heard the unmistakable sound of Connor's voice even though it was muffled and hushed. The Northern in his voice was thick, a sure sign he was distressed. Abby swallowed hard at the pleading and panic in his voice, but he was alive. Connor was alive! They had to save him!<p>

"Eastdale! Connor left me a message on my mobile. He's alive, and he's at Eastdale."

* * *

><p>Connor had long since given up on any thought of managing his own escape and the bare glimmer of hope that someone else would was fading rapidly. He'd gone from feeling bad to worse, and from thinking he might be dying to knowing he was. Sweat drenched his body; he alternated from burning to freezing as the drug attacked his system. No matter how he cried out and begged for help, no one came. He'd lost his voice, he'd lost his dignity, and he knew he was well on his way to losing his mind for good this time. He panted hard as he tried to calm himself, his stomach twisted; he felt so odd. Time slowed. His arms jerked hard against the restraints of their own accord; he tasted blood and saw white.<p>

* * *

><p>The doctor on duty had very quickly pointed them in the right direction thanks to the motivation of guns and government identification. There were only two men in the facility that matched Connor's description and one of them was in an isolation room just down the hall. Abby sprinted down the hallway, ignoring Matt's warning to stay behind him. She tore open the door and turned on the light. She'd found him! She had, but something was wrong with him. Connor was in the grip of a violent seizure, his muscles locked rigid against the restraints as he thrashed about.<p>

"Get a doctor!" Abby shouted as she rushed to his side.

She rode with him in the ambulance; he was to be taken to the ARC medical department. The doctors they now kept on staff were often better than the ones the hospitals had. It was safe and confidential and better yet, Abby could stay with him. She kept watch by his bedside for hours, waiting for him to wake.

Connor's brow creased as he registered unfamiliar sounds. Confused, he tried to open his eyes. He groaned as the light set off a thousand tiny hammers in his head.

"I'm sorry. What happened? Where am I?" he rasped, his throat raw and painful. He blinked at the pretty blonde sat next to him holding his hand and tried vainly to piece together what had happened to him. He couldn't remember how he got there. He'd been… somewhere.

"Connor," she gave a tiny smile and then hugged him tightly.

It was warm and familiar. He knew her. He was sure of it. Memories began filtering through his seizure-fogged brain slowly, then more rapidly as the seconds ticked by.

"Abby?" he asked, his voice small.

"Yeah, Connor. I'm here."

"You were gone, Abby. He took you away. I'm sorry."

She squeezed him tighter, "Don't be sorry."

He just shook his head, unable to explain what Philip Burton had done to him. He'd stolen his very identity, his sense of self. Abby had been right about him all along. He should have trusted her. He'd been such a fool.

"I am," he replied as a tear escaped to trail down his cheek.

"Doesn't matter. It's okay," Abby comforted. "Burton's dead, and he'll not have a chance to hurt anyone else again."

"Dead?"

"Very. Cut in half by an anomaly as he tried to escape."

Connor looked sickened for a moment, but then his jaw firmed and his lips compressed into a thin line, "Good." He looked down at the bed sheets so she wouldn't see the guilt and pain behind his eyes, "Can we go home?"

Abby pressed a kiss to his temple, "Yeah."

Abby had been true to her word and had managed to get him released in short order. She'd handed him his necklace and helped him change into a clean shirt and then wheeled him out to the car in a wheelchair. He could walk, but he was still unsteady and the medics insisted. The medics said it would be a few days before he truly felt physically normal again, and he knew it would be much longer still until he was able to get his head straightened out. The doctors had done a number on him, and he was reluctant to accept the offer of counseling with the ARC psychologist because of it. Abby figured it was a battle best waged later on. For now, she'd just get him home.

Connor seemed a little lost as they entered the flat, but he tried to cover it with a joke and a smile. Abby offered to put on the kettle, more to give him a moment alone than for anything else, and Connor gave her another skittish smile and a nod. He looked around the main room, feeling like a stranger in his own home. It didn't help that they'd just moved house before he disappeared. His body ached and his throat still burned, he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but he was terrified he'd close his eyes and he'd wake up as Gordon again. He chewed his bottom lip as he waited on Abby to return from the kitchen, suddenly afraid that she'd disappear too.

"I put some honey in it," Abby said as she came out of the kitchen.

She paused as she took in the haunted look behind Connor's dark chocolate eyes, "Alright?" she asked softly.

He looked up at her, his bottom lip trembled and he shook his head, "No," he admitted.

She placed the tea on the table in front of him and enfolded him in her arms, "S' okay. You're safe."

It undid him, then and there. The tears came freely as he told her what Philip Burton had done.

"Abby, I… I didn't want to forget you. I'm sorry… I was such an idiot."

"Connor, It'll be okay."

He apologized again and again until she kissed him just to get him to stop. The sweet, reassuring kiss grew deeper and more demanding. Abby knew what they both desperately needed. She needed the reassurance of his touch as much as he needed her… to prove that she'd found him and then gotten him out and back safe with her. They made love... slow but intense, and if her cheeks were wet after, then she could just blame it on Connor because his were, as well. She knew it and he knew it, but he'd never call her on it. He loved her as she was, and to her, that was most remarkable of all. She loved him so much, and when they were in each other's arms that night she found the courage to say it back to him. She promised herself she'd say it every day, if it meant she'd never lose him again.

That night she slept with her arms around him and the hall light on. It would take time, but he would recover. Until he did, she'd hold him every night as long as he wished it… and then every night after that. She was never letting him go.

**END**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Plan to do a M-rated Missing Reel for the end bit there. Interested?**

**Sorry it took so long, and I hope ya'll enjoyed it. Please tell me if you did (or didn't?) Reviews make for a happy, prolific muse… just sayin'.**


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